


20 Years

by Emily_MC



Series: Johnlock AU's [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Meeting, Childhood Friends, Kidlock, M/M, Teenlock, Tumblr Prompts, mentions of abuse, no actual abuse, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 18:38:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4111003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emily_MC/pseuds/Emily_MC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"my parents moved me halfway across the world when we were twelve and before that we were best friends but now I'm back and moving in across the hall from you so hi?" AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	20 Years

**Author's Note:**

> Now In Russian thanks to AO3 user BackChat! 
> 
> https://ficbook.net/readfic/3301412

    Sherlock had been living in 221B Baker Street comfortably for around three months. He'd gotten a good deal as the landlady, Mrs. Hudson, had owed him a favor after a rather dreadful week in the heat of Florida in July. Regardless of the means, Sherlock had persuaded her to give him the flat cheep enough that he didn't need a flatmate. And thank God for that. He was better off alone. People were only good for leaving and disappointing you. He'd learned that a long time ago.

 

_It was a chilly night in October, but that didn't stop the young blonde boy, no more than 12, that was quickly climbing out his window and running down a small alley to the house behind his. He ran over to a rickety ladder and climbed it carefully to a small area of roof outside a curtain covered window. He'd done this so many times it was easy now, despite the tears in his eyes. Crouched outside the window he knocked twice in a quick succession, then paused, and knocked once, a smaller pause then a final single knock. He waited, shivering, for a few moments until the window was opened. "John?" came a sleepy voice through the dark opening._

 

 

 

     John had been living in 221C Baker Street, officially, for about three hours. Mrs. Hudson had, he suspected, given him a lower rate out of pity, but he wasn't about to give up the chance at a real flat. Sure, it wasn't the nicest, but given a few months he could fix it to meet his needs. He sighed as he looked around the mostly empty living room. All he had brought with him was a computer, a bag of clothes, a small box of personal items, and his gun. All the furniture in the flat had already been there, and Mrs. Hudson had lent him some sheets for the bed and her old kettle for the time being. John had thanked her profusely, and listened politely to her chatter about her nephew ("He's a solider too. Just started out, mind, but its the least I can do to help you out, dearie.") for a half hour before excusing himself to his own flat. Now he walked into the bedroom and lay down, tossing restlessly for hours, trying to sleep. Then he heard the quiet strains of a violin from the flat above and smiled. He eventually fell into a calm sleep.

 

 

     _"John, what is it?" said the voice, reaching out to help him climb inside. John fell into the warm embrace of his best friend. "Sherlock." he cried softly. The taller boy held him tightly for a few minutes before gently pulling away and silently leading him to his large bed. They crawled in, laying on their sides facing each other. "John? Why are you crying?" whispered Sherlock. John was quiet for a few moments._  


_"Remember last week when I told you Mum and Da had been fighting a lot?" he asked, looking down. Sherlock nodded. "Well...I guess they're getting a divorce..." Sherlock's brow furrowed, confused. "But...I thought you wanted your Dad to leave?" he asked gently. John's father was a violent man, and he treated John and his mother and sister horribly. Sherlock would be glad to see him gone._

  
_John sighed and nodded. "I did...except Mum can't afford our house alone so...we're moving to live with my Auntie Marie..." he whispered. Sherlock's heart stopped, but then John continued. "She lives in America."_ _And Sherlock's heart broke._  


 

 

     Sherlock didn't notice the new tenant of 221 Baker Street for a few days, too wrapped up in a difficult case. He'd stayed up for days, playing violin late at night in order to think and not eating, even when Mrs. Hudson brought up his favorite biscuits. Finally, he'd found the solution and dashed out of the house to track down the murderer. When he'd returned 9 hours later, exhausted, minus one shoe, and with a slightly sprained wrist, he finally noticed the change in the building. Their was a light on in the downstairs flat, and the soft sound of someone watching the telly. A new tenant then. Interesting. As long as they left Sherlock alone it shouldn't be a problem. He certainly wasn't going to befriend this new person. He didn't have friends. Never had. Not since he was a boy.

 

_The next morning, Sherlock's Mum had found the two boys asleep, curled around each other and smiled sadly. She called Mrs. Watson to let her know, and returned to gently wake them. "John, sweetheart, your Mum's worried sick. You'd better go home." she said softly when his eyes blinked open. He frowned and wrapped himself tighter around his best friend. Eventually he let go when they were both promised another sleepover that night._

_John and his mother and sister spent a week packing their things into boxes and suitcases. The two Watson children did so reluctantly, and with many pouts and groans. And every night, John snuck out of his increasingly empty room and climbed into Sherlock's, where the two spent hours playing and talking quietly before falling asleep together. On the last day, a Thursday, it was raining. Of course it was. John and Sherlock stood on the sidewalk in front of John's old house. His family was waiting in the cab that would take them to the airport._

_John was crying. Sherlock couldn't stand to look at him so he pulled him into a hug.  "You'll always be my best friend, John." he whispered. John nodded. "You too, Sherlock. And we can write, and Mum promised I can even call every once and a while." Sherlock said nothing, already dreading the inevitable decline of communication between them._

 

 

 

  
Sherlock shook the memory of John Watson out of his head. He wished he had the strength to delete him, but he could never bring himself to do so. He frowned and climbed the stairs to his own flat, and walked into his bedroom. He lay down, and stared at the ceiling for an indeterminable amount of time, avoiding thinking about John. His first and only best friend, John Watson. Eventually he lost the fight and rolled out of bed and walked over to his closet. He reached up and retrieved a small box from the back corner of the shelf. Sitting down, he opened it slowly. First he pulled out a bundle of letters, John's messy writing showing through the torn envelopes. He set them aside, pulling out a fading polaroid. Two beaming young boys, one John, the other himself. They were wearing swimming trunks. Sherlock's face was red from sun, and John's arm was around his shoulders. With a faint smile Sherlock placed that on top of the letters. The only thing left in the box was a bracelet. He lifted it slowly. The slightly tarnished pendant glinted softly. The initials _JW_ were stamped into the metal.

 

 

  _John sniffed softly. "Here." he murmured. "Mum helped me make this." He handed Sherlock a dark black, braided leather bracelet. It had John's initials on it. Sherlock looked at him, eyes questioning. John held up his own wrist, where he had a matching bracelet. When the charm stopped swinging he realized it had his own initials on it. "So we never forget each other." John mumbled, looking down with a blush. "You don't have to wear it if you think its dumb or-" Grinning, Sherlock cut him off. "I love it. I'll keep it forever." he promised seriously, working it on to his wrist._  


_His friend smiled widely and they hugged tightly again. "Friends forever." John whispered again, and they parted. Sherlock watched the cab drive away, John waving through the back window. A single tear slid down his cheek and he wiped it away._

 

_They wrote steadily for a few years, and even managed a few phone calls. Eventually, Sherlock sent a letter that never received a reply. He waited months, checking the mail constantly. After almost 6 months of no letters or calls, Sherlock gave up. He angrily shoved all of his letter's and that stupid bracelet into a box, and convinced himself he was better off alone._

 

 

   Now, twenty years later, Sherlock gripped the bracelet tightly. He put the letters and the picture back into the box, and returned the box to its place on his shelf. Bracelet still in hand he walked into the sitting room. He flopped onto the couch, and stared at the bracelet. After a few moments of deliberation he slid it onto his left wrist. It was snug, but luckily it had been large on him originally so it still fit. In his mind he berated himself. Who would still be caught up on a childhood friend nearly two decades later? It was stupid and childish and there was no reason for it. John Watson would have long since moved on. He thought he had done the same.

 

 

     Downstairs in 221C, John sat, bored, watching some crap drama show on the beat up telly he'd found in the bedroom closet. He sighed, unconsciously reaching up to toy with his dog tags. However, his fingers sought out the mismatched charm. A smaller metal circle. He felt the indentions. The curves of the S. The corners of the H. He sighed, again. A sad feeling washed over him as he thought of the boy he'd left behind, standing in the rain. He'd had to slide the pendant on the chain of his dog tags when the leather had cracked and broken in the hot Afghanistan desert. He found himself wishing, not for the first time since he'd returned, that he had a way to contact Sherlock Holmes.

 

 

     Despite his best efforts, Sherlock couldn't avoid his new neighbor forever. The Thursday after the new tenant had moved in, Sherlock was again laying on the couch, deep in thought, when the door opened. He registered Mrs. Hudson's footsteps. Another set followed them. One Sherlock didn't recognize. He opened his eyes. A man, close to his age, stood in the doorway. The deductions raced through Sherlock's mind. _Dog tags. Military. Recently injured. Sent home from...Afghanistan. Another item on necklace chain, sentimental, probably. Would have to get closer for more accurate analysis. Single mother, younger...no, older alcoholic sister. Lives...downstairs. Ah, the new tenant._ Sherlock rolled his eyes. Mrs. Hudson had decided they should meet then.

 

     "That was... amazing." Came a voice from the doorway. Sherlock's eyes widened. He must have deduced out loud again. For the better, he supposed, might as well scare him away now...But...had he said _amazing?_ No one called Sherlock amazing. Even Mrs. Hudson simply ignored his deductions. Sherlock started at this stranger in surprise, standing slowly. The man spoke again. "You were right, about all that." he said, smiling charmingly. "I'm your neighbor. I'm John. John Watson."

 

     That name. It couldn't be. There must be more than one John Watson in the world. More than one John Watson with blonde hair and blue eyes and a scar from a tree climbing accident on their left brow..... right?

 

     He cleared his throat, reaching out with his left hand to shake John's. "Sherlock Holmes." he said, waiting for any sign of recognition in those almost familiar eyes. He watched as John's eyes went from his outstretched hand up to his face, quickly. And there! A flash of hope! He watched, unbreathing, as a smile grew on John's face. "Sherlock??" he breathed, sounding as unbelieving as the (still) taller man felt. "John." he said in answer, a grin taking over his own face. In a moment Sherlock was tugged forcefully into a tight hug, one he didn't fight. Mrs. Hudson looked at the two of them in shock. Sherlock sent her a look that meant he would explain everything later, and she left the flat, shaking her head in amusement.

 

     When they pulled out of the hug, they stared at each other for a moment. "Jesus, I can't believe this." John breathed. Sherlock chuckled softly, then he noticed John staring at his wrist. The bracelet. Sherlock flushed, embarrassed. John wasn't wearing his. He would think Sherlock was crazy, and pathetic. But then, John reached up to his dog tags and grabbed that third pendant. He lifted it for Sherlock to see. The letters _SH_ glinted back at him and they shared a grin. "When you stopped writing, I thought I'd never see you again." Sherlock admitted. John's grin faded to a look of confusion. "When _I_ stopped writing? You never replied." he said, "I wrote you at least five letters that never got replies, so I stopped trying." Sherlock frowned. "I never got them."

 

     John shrugged. "Either way...its great to see you again, Sherlock. God, it really is."

 

     Sherlock smiled. Instead of answering he looked down. "Forgive me if I'm overstepping but...that flat downstairs is a bit crap and this one has two bedrooms..." he trailed off, glancing up at his newly recovered friend. "Of course...If you would be uncomfortable....." He was cut off by John's laughter. "Sounds amazing. No offense to Mrs. H, but that flat is horrible."

 

     Sherlock laughed, and just like that, John Watson was once again a permanent fixture in Sherlock's life.

 

* * *

 

     A few months later, Sherlock was shocked to find himself feeling rather differently about his best friend. An amazing, terrifyingly new sensation filled his chest when he looked at his flatmate. It took him another five months to realize the name of this feeling. Sherlock Holmes was in love. With John Watson.

 

     A week after this sudden epiphany, Sherlock steeled all his courage to ask his best friend out on a date. After a moment of shock John nodded with a shy grin.

 

     A year and a few days later, the two men stumbled across the threshold of 221B, laughing, wrapped around each other. They stood there for a moment, staring into each others eyes before Sherlock grabbed John's hand and tugged him down the hall to their bedroom. On the mantelpiece were two picture frames. One containing two smiling boys, arms around each others shoulders. The other, the same two boys, now men, in matching suits and grins. Draped across this frame was a chain holding two old, tarnished pendants. They had been replaced with two new, much more expensive pieces of silver jewelry. 

**Author's Note:**

> I loved writing this, I hope you all like it.
> 
> Also, I don't know if I explained it well but the pattern John uses to knock on Sherlock's window is supposed to be Morse Code of the letters "I N" aka the word "in". Just a silly thing I could see them doing.


End file.
